


filled with love

by thattumtho



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: M/M, Weight Gain, no beta we die like men, this is a weight gain fanfic if you dont like wg you will not like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattumtho/pseuds/thattumtho
Summary: Ritsuka has decided that Sherlock is far too thin.
Relationships: Fujimaru Ritsuka/Sherlock Holmes | Ruler
Kudos: 16





	filled with love

**Author's Note:**

> some notes:
> 
> \- this is a weight gain fanfic. if you do not like that you will not like this.  
> \- i have no idea when this takes place lol

“You’re much too thin,” is how Ritsuka explains himself.

Sherlock does not say that he minds, rather, it’s best for him to get closer to his master. While he would prefer to spend his time researching by himself or talking with some of the great minds in Chaldea, Ritsuka is his master, and to remain on his good side is probably for the best.

The tea is not bad - a delicious blueberry black tea blend that pairs well with the blueberry scones. It is not too strong either, not oversteeped - but Sherlock does notice the two scoops of sugar and the splash of milk Ritsuka pours in. 

“Are the scones bad?” Ritsuka asks. His fingers pull at his own scone, but his eyes are stuck on Sherlock’s plate. “I’ve never made them before, so I got some help from Emiya, but he was busy so he couldn’t help the whole time.”

He raises his eyes from his papers to look first at Ritsuka’s expression, then down to his mostly untouched scone. Sherlock carefully places his tea cup down before pulling a piece off of the scone and popping it into his mouth.

It’s a little dry, but that makes it perfect for dipping with tea. Sherlock is not a big fan of scones, actually - not all British people are the same - and he has already repeatedly reminded Ritsuka that he does not need food, nor sleep, to manifest, just the constant supply of mana (and well, other recreational activities). Further, his slim figure was reminiscent for him, of his times back in London.

But this scene, drinking a breakfast tea with scones before the day began, well, it was also reminiscent of those days, waking with Watson. So he smiles and replies, “It is a lovely first attempt.”

Ritsuka’s smile extends from ear to ear as he claps his hands together. “Ah! I’m so glad to hear!” 

His smile is infectious, and without thinking of it, the ruler reaches the full scone and dips into his tea and takes another bite. As he had guessed, the tea sinks into the pastry and pairs well, the perfect balance of bitter from the tea and the sweetness of the scone. With Ritsuka’s eager eyes on him, he feels the need to eat the full thing.

Ritsuka’s eyes drop down as he starts to think, and Sherlock watches silently, “I read of some other pastry recipes yesterday when I was trying to think of what to make for this morning. A lot of them looked really interesting! I’m still new at cooking, obviously, but I want to try to get better at cooking just in case we don’t have a chef on mission...” 

His eyes rise up again and he looks at Sherlock, “Are there any recipes that you remember liking? You know, when you were alive?”

Sherlock ponders on this a little. He remembers the elaborate meals from Mycroft’s home, the humble meals after a long mission, the sweet candies Dr. Jekyll would slip into his pockets, the morning brunches with Watson…. The scents and the tastes seem to flutter by, and hunger grips him again. 

He reaches for another scone, “I would love to try some shortbread cookies again.”

Ritsuka’s face lights up, “Of course!”

\--

His master is at his door before he has finished getting ready for the day - hands full.

“Emiya was free today! He helped me bake the shortbread cookies,” Ritsuka explains as he sets up their morning tea. Today he has chosen another strong black tea - an Earl Grey brew so powerful Sherlock decides he too needs a couple of sugar cubes thrown in.

The shortbread cookies are small and sweet, and plentiful. There must be over two dozen made, still warm from the oven. The small eye bags point at what Sherlock already knew - Ritsuka must have stayed up all night and woken up early to make him cookies.

They are not too dry nor too wet - a perfect shortbread cookie. Emiya’s touch is apparent, they are perfect circles that dip well in tea. They crumble apart with one bite, deliciously melting on Sherlock’s tongue.

The two spend this time as a morning briefing. Sherlock tells him of any disruptions in the Sheba system, and Ritsuka tells him little anecdotes around the base the day before. He half-listens, half-reads his notes, chuckling under his breath as he hears of Ibaraki and Shuten’s bullying, the trio of women that stalked their master’s movements, and Xiang Yu’s destruction.

“You must tell Xiang Yu not to destroy more of my property,” Sherlock reminds him, taking another sip of his tea. Melted crumbs of the shortbread have settled near the bottom, and he tilts the cup so he can drink as much of them as possible.

When he lowers his cup, he sees Ritsuka looking at him with a big smile.

“Yes?” he asks, setting the tea cup down on its saucer and leaning back into his recliner. Opposite to him, Ritsuka is leaned forwards in his chair, as if to catch every word, find every detail. They caught clues differently - Sherlock was all nuance, all small note-taking. Ritsuka was the type to run after you with pen and paper.

“You really liked the cookies, huh?” Ritsuka asked, with the glee of a kid who knew something you did not. Sherlock raises an eyebrow. No, he must have only had three or four, nothing more, but when his eyes drop down to the plate he’s hit with his own gluttony.

Only the cracked crumbles of a few cookies remain. The plate has been vacuumed clean. His eyes darted to Ritsuka’s plate, where two and a half cookies sat. He does the quick mental math - he definitely ate more than half the two dozen!

He sets the plate down on the table and his stomach groans at the movement. A stomach full of sugar and tea is not a happy one, but he does a good job at hiding the pain. Nevermind the fact that he has not fully eaten until full in a long time, and now his stomach feels tight against his corset. It reminds him of when their housekeeper would cook large elaborate feasts for the holidays, when he had to be kind or hurt her feelings.

Looking at how Ritsuka beams at him, it’s a much similar feeling.

He waves his hand dismissively and returns to his papers. “My compliments to the chef.”

“I will know what to bring tomorrow, then!”

\--

This pattern continues. Every morning before their days truly began, Sherlock would find Ritsuka at his door carrying food and a tea to pair. 

Shortbread cookies became a staple, and soon Emiya’s touch was replaced with his own. The cookies were not always perfect circles, but their taste always made up for it. Some mornings, they would be sprinkled with other things - raisins, chocolate chips, vanilla or chocolate flavouring, depending on what the kitchen could provide. One morning they were made with Earl Grey tea, a perfect pair with the London Fog lattes Ritsuka brought in.

Other days, he would bring in a French Press and make coffee. Those days were the ones where Ritsuka looked the most in need of sleep, eyes deep and sullen, but still carrying arms full of food. The food depended on the beans in question. If it was a lighter roast, then he would have butter croissants or madeleines, if it was bolder, then they would sample on chocolatines and banana breads.

He had become quite fond of the chocolate pairings, and Ritsuka must have noticed by the way he licked his fingers after finishing, as one morning he showed up holding a deep dish of brownies, full of thick chocolate chips. They had matched the deep Italian roast so well, the richness of the chocolate mixing with the boldness of the coffee that it needed no further sugar added.

Sherlock had been trying his best not to eat a full plate of cookies, or a full tray of brownies, since the first time he had been caught by Ritsuka. But that would just cause further problems, as Ritsuka would leave the leftovers to taunt him the rest of the day.

At first, he could just simply pawn the rest of the food off. Slide the pan into the kitchen and watch the ever-hungry servants clean the rest out. Unfortunately, it did not take others to take notice, including a certain red Archer.

“You know, he wakes up bright and early to bake for you every morning,” Emiya catches him as he’s sneaking out of the cafeteria, “You could at least finish them.”

Sherlock was strong against many things. Moon cancers, poisons, evil masterminds, waterfalls, but well, guilt was still something difficult for him to shake off.

So, he was now stuck with piles of sweets and treats in his room. This was alright during the day, when his job’s requirements made him out of his room. He could focus on work and, if he was needed on a mission, the hard work would help shave off a couple of pounds.

As Ritsuka’s morning meetings had begun their effect on his body.

If his original plan was to get some more meat on his bones, then he was definitely already successful. A couple of weeks of sweet treats had added pounds. His corset had become more difficult to tighten up, requiring a couple of harsh tugs in order to fit as per normal. It was nothing noticeable unless you were looking, but Sherlock wondered if anyone’s eyes lingered on to tell.

Besides his corset, he had noticed his hunger start to dictate his routine. If Ritsuka was just a bit late, then his stomach began to rumble, as if to complain about this inconvenience. If Tawara popped into the control room, a plate full of rice balls for the staff, then he would unconsciously grab one as the archer passed by and snack on it. If Nursery Rhyme asked him if he would be interested in a lollipop, then he might feel compelled to try one (this was only to make her happy, of course, not because his body wanted something sweet).

This snacking all culminated when he would return to this room as the base fell asleep.

Before, he would simply find a nook to spend the night in. He would study the night away, looking over files and taking notes. Perhaps, if he had worked hard enough, he might indulge in a little recreational activity. Or, if his body demanded it, he would sleep.

But he now had a new problem with the leftovers. They seemed to stare at him from wherever he sat, taunting him with their sweetness. Perhaps, if he had convinced himself that he had earned it, then he would sample one or two. Maybe, if there were only a couple of bites left, he would make sure to finish it. If he wavered, then Ritsuka’s disappointed face would flash before him, and he would gobble down the rest. 

This meant that when Ritsuka showed up with a whole bundle of food in the morning, Sherlock had an empty tupperware to give back.

\--

Sherlock sighed as he studied himself in the mirror. The clock ticked loudly behind him, each ‘tick’ or ‘tock’ ringing in his ears. He knew Ritsuka would be coming in soon - his stomach grumbled as it eagerly awaited this morning’s sweets - but he was currently facing a dilemma.

Despite his best efforts, his corset will not snap on. When he tries to simply manifest it on, in a flurry of golden dust, it creaks and complains. So too does his stomach, the added pressure is too much to bear. 

But he definitely cannot show himself like this. His vest’s buttons strain to be done up, now that his stomach protrudes at all times. He turns to be in profile and attempts to suck it in, but even then a little pudge pokes out. Sherlock places one hand on his lower back, while he pinches the fat around his hips. He’s able to grab onto a handful before he lets it drop back. It is no longer tight and taut fat, after a big meal, but soft and doughy that sits and collects.

Sherlock sighs as he gives himself another glance over. As it is not only his stomach that has grown out. His once pencil-thin legs have almost doubled, so much that he does without the leg pieces in order to not bring attention to his thighs. His upper arms have begun to develop some fat that wobbles when he moves them, and under his once knife-sharp jaw sits the beginning of a double chin.

If he continues snacking on all of Ritsuka’s treats and throughout the day, he will only continue to gain weight. He nods to himself in the mirror - he will begin a diet today.

He decides to do without the vest. 

His train of thought is cut short by a knocking at the door. Bright and early as always, Ritsuka has arrived carrying food - more cookies, and a floral peach tea.

The cookies are a simple gingerbread, and that is what Sherlock tells himself as he sticks to tea that morning. More, it’s what he tells his stomach, that protests at the loss of its morning dose of sweet treats. Sherlock knows he is being colder this morning - answering in one word responses, keeping his eyes on his work so they do not wander over to the cookies - but it is to keep himself from eating. He must be determined.

He spends the rest of the day doing training modules. He has remained quite nimble despite the added weight. A smile dons his face as he destroys another enemy - yes, once and awhile, it is quite fun to get in a good sweat! If he continues this training, by reducing the calories and training, then he will be back at his original weight in no time.

Sherlock is proud of himself when he returns to his room that night. He had stopped himself from snacking, despite his stomach’s protests.

He glances over to his desk, where the tupperware of gingerbread cookies sit. 

Sherlock decides it’s best to sleep tonight instead.

\--

He wakes up feeling new and refreshed. Perhaps it is his own mind playing tricks on him, but when he looks at himself in the mirror, he _thinks_ he has seen a change in his figure. Perfect! Now, he just needs to keep this up.

Sherlock reminds himself of this when he hears the knock at the door and opens it up.

There, as always, stands Ritsuka, but today, he holds a bright-pink box. There’s a cute decoration on the top, Tamamo Cat holding up a cupcake. The box is extremely wide and it takes Ritsuka both of his hands to hold it up. 

Sherlock cannot comment before Ritsuka barges his way into his room, talking a mile a minute. “So yesterday it seemed as if you weren’t interested in my cookies. Which I guess is the case since you didn’t finish them. So!” He places the box on the table and reaches into his bag to grab a thermos. He’s familiar with Sherlock’s room already, and quickly finds the tea cups.

Sherlock watches as he unscrews the thermos and pours an equal amount of a hot liquid into each cup. The smell informs him of what it is immediately - hot chocolate swirls as it settles. Ritsuka once again reaches into his bag and pulls out a can of whipped cream, one that Sherlock recognizes as the fake kind, and gives both cups a generous amount of whipped cream on top. 

“So! I wanted to step things up for today! I called up TamaCat and well, she’s not a master chef for nothing. I also asked Jekyll if he remembered any of your likes, and!” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of those tiny sweet candies Jekyll would drop into his pockets. “Caramels! So I got TamaCat to make a glaze based on these caramels, and then put them on some, bam! Donuts!” 

He opens up the box to show Sherlock, like a briefcase full of gold. And they shine just the same. A dozen deliciously plump and round donuts glow, dripping with a light brown glaze. Sherlock’s stomach rumbles at the sight of them - how amazing it would be to bite into them, to feel the caramel dripping down his lips….

“I appreciate this very much, Ritsuka,” Sherlock tells him, placing a hand on his master’s shoulder. “You have done a lot of hard work.”

He sighs and gestures to his body, “But you see, I am out of shape. I am on a diet. While I do very much enjoy your treats, I must cut back in order to return to my original saint graph.”

Ritsuka gives him a confused look. His eyes do a quick glance over before cocking his head to the side. “Yeah?”

“Pardon?”

“Didn’t I tell you that you were far too skinny?”

“Yes, but well, isn’t this far too much?” Sherlock gestures to his stomach.

Another glance over, “Nope.”

Now it is Sherlock’s turn to be taken aback, “Pardon? This is far past the preferred saint graph for a servant - why, I’m sure that with a couple more days, I’ll be as big as Caesar!”

Ritsuka gestures to the donuts, “That’s the goal.”

Sherlock studies him. There’s no maliciousness in his look - Ritsuka had always worn his emotions on his sleeve and this is no different. Just confusion and...a hint of lust? Sherlock furrows his brow, no, this couldn’t be-

He sighs and takes a single donut. It’s sticky against his fingers and drips with excess caramel that he licks up his arm. The drizzle is sickeningly sweet, and very similar to Jekyll’s candies. He made a mental note to reprimand Jekyll for sharing one of his secrets.

There’s a little crack on the glaze as Sherlock bites into the donut. It’s a perfect donut - not too hard, not too soft, a balanced squish. The dough is not over or under done, and his lips smack loudly as he chews the donut. It’s a simple vanilla donut with the caramel drizzle, but the composition mixes well together, and it is finished in a flash.

“How was it?” Ritsuka asks, eyes alight.

Sherlock sits down and sighs, “Delicious. Absolutely delicious.” Ritsuka’s grin extends from ear to ear.

“However, I can’t eat another, despite how happy it makes you,” he waves his hand dismissively. 

But Ritsuka is holding up another one right up next to him, and his expression is so sweet, so kind, that Sherlock once again sighs and opens his mouth.

Each donut is more delicious than the last. Sherlock’s mind melts as he chews on the fluffy dough. He moans at the sweetness of the caramel drizzle that coats his lips and escapes down his chin. When any reaches too far, Ritsuka’s napkin is there to collect it, before feeding him another donut. When six are down, Ritsuka brings the hot chocolate to his lips and he takes a deep swig. The chocolate mixes so well with the caramel that he groans, and the whip is fluffy and sweet. 

Once again, Ritsuka has made a perfect pairing.

Sherlock can only pay attention to what Ritsuka is feeding him. He lets his body sink into the recliner, his eyes close, and his body relax. His body is still a little sore from exercising the day before, and it thanks him for this day off.

And his stomach is certainly happy! It grumbles in delight as Sherlock finishes the last donut.

Ritsuka plants a kiss to his lips, and Sherlock accepts it greedily, moaning at his invasive tongue that cleans up the remaining caramel. When he pulls away, Sherlock half-opens his eyes to see Ritsuka looking down at him, eyes alight and a blush painting his cheeks.

He reaches down and cups Sherlock’s cheek, “You look so great like this.”

Sherlock furrows his brow, “Are you certain?”

“This is the ideal!”

Sherlock’s stomach gurgles and Ritsuka’s eyebrows raise. “Would you like some more?”

The ruler looked to the side. His cheeks felt sticky from the caramel, but his stomach was happy with him. After starving himself yesterday, it was a much needed gift. He looks down at his tummy, a little soiled with the caramel and the grease. 

Ritsuka rubs his belly softly and Sherlock lets out a little whine, “Yes, please.”

\--

Their routine continued, but there were changes to it, now.

Ritsuka would let himself in every morning, arms full of food. Mornings would be filled with sweets - chocolatines, pancakes dripping with maple syrup and dotted with blueberries and chocolate chips, waffles smeared in hazelnut spread and milkshakes topped with whipped cream. He would feed him happily, watching as more and more food went down his throat, and clean his face of crumbs and drool.

Then Ritsuka would read off what had been happening in Chaldea. This had become more and more difficult with every passing day, as Sherlock’s stomach would groan in protest as the feeding stopped. If Ritsuka talked too much, Sherlock himself would complain, asking for another snack to chew on while he recounted the goings on.

With a donut in his hands or candies to suck on, Ritsuka would make sure that he was comfortable. In the manner of months, he had ballooned from his original weight, and could not get up by himself. His master had gotten him a new bed, one that would be able to support his new, massive size. Ritsuka would climb over him, making sure not to put too much pressure on his belly, and fluff on his pillows or wash his skin or hair for him. On some days, he would roll him over to a comfy spot he makes on the floor so that he can wash his sheets for him. Sherlock’s comfort was the most important factor, after all!

At that point, it was time for more food, and Sherlock would spend his lunch snacking on burgers, hot dogs, pop, and more greasy foods. After shamelessly admitting he missed those American treats from his time in Shinjuku, Ritsuka had hired Raikou and Boudica to be making his lunches. So now, when noon hit, a tray of fast food, lined with piles of fries, could be wheeled in for Sherlock to pick at.

Of course, he would only pick, since he preferred it when Ritsuka fed him. He relished in the feeling of Ritsuka’s hands on his head, his cheeks, his chin, helping him chew when there was too much food, or patting his forehead and giving him sweet nothings as he ate more and more. And Ritsuka would make him eat - it was basically his full-time job, now! Even when Sherlock felt like he was unable to get anymore in, Ritsuka would appear with more food and the challenge to fit more inside.

Once the last fry was eaten, Ritsuka would leave Sherlock for a bit to do some of his master duties. This was the worst part of the day for him, as he waited for Ritsuka to return with more food. Originally he would read over his files and try to do some work, but his bloated fingers couldn’t hold them and he could not jot down notes. So now, he spent his afternoons watching television or video game streams.

Ritsuka was not too foolish to keep him alone and hungry, of course, and would make sure to keep some bags of chips or plates of cookies in arms’ reach.

When dinner hit, Sherlock would be treated to a collection of meaty and fatty foods. Meat pies, beef wellingtons, the best cuts of beef that would be slurped down, pastas dripping in butter and cheese, meatloafs and bowls and bowls of rice. Only to be washed down with more soda. Spoonfuls of food would pass by his lips, and he would keep his eyes stuck on Ritsuka’s expression as he swallowed another.

For his master continued to wear an extremely pleasant look on his face. After each meal, he would run his hands over Sherlock’s massive form, compliments dripping from him like a faucet. Each time he would come in, handsfull with food, he would be sporting the biggest grin. Eyes, half-lidded with lust, would watch in rapt attention as he fed Sherlock more and more food.

“I love you so much, Sherlock,” he would tell him, “You look perfect like this.” Ritsuka litters him with kisses.

Candy bars and cakes and hot chocolates would finish the day. The two would settle in for the night, Ritsuka’s face resting on Sherlock’s stomach, listening to the noises it made as it digested that day’s meal.

Rinse and repeat.

This daily tsunami of food and drink had resulted in a drastically different detective.

There was no possible way for him to fit into his old outfit, so now the only thing he wore was perhaps a blanket. His legs would jutt out from under the blanket, two thick sausages that tapered off at his ankles. Ritsuka enjoyed rubbing his hands over his dimpled thighs and massaging his feet to make sure there was blood flow. One time Ritsuka had joked about Sherlock crushing him to death with his thighs, and with their current size, Sherlock would definitely be able to.

He sat, day in and day out, on his plump butt. It stuck out as a shelf, decorated with stretch marks. Ritsuka would reach his hands around to squeeze it, marveling in the plush softness and how his fingers could sink into the flesh.

Sherlock’s most defining growth was by far his stomach. Two large rolls acted as his gut, that spread his legs open and covered his crotch. It wobbled and gurgled with each movement. Ritsuka marveled at its size and wondered daily about how big he could make him before it would stop growing. It absolutely dwarfed him. He loved filling him up until his stomach was tight and taught. He would often give it stomach rubs after a long meal as a congratulations. It had become his favourite pillow in all of Chaldea.

Sitting upon his giant gut were two perky, swollen breasts, that gave him the appearance of bearing milk. Ritsuka would rub them if they were ever sensitive or sore, or for his own amusement, watching as he moaned in response. Oh how he enjoyed dining on his nipples, and resting his head in his cleavage. 

Finally, resting on three chins, his face had ballooned up as well. His once sharp jawline had become a circled pudge. His cheeks looked more like the donuts he would shove into his mouth every day. His lips, so delicious and kissable, appeared trapped by his own fat. How Ritsuka loved to cup his cheeks and kiss his lips, to pepper him in kisses, and to brush his bangs from his eyes. If ever there was a stain or a spill, he would be quick to clean it up.

Sherlock had not needed to leave his room for a while - and that was alright. Ritsuka had found ways for him to do his job remotely from his room, if he so wished. However, it became quickly apparent that his new job was only eating.

The last glass of milk emptied and Ritsuka pulled it away. He kissed him deep, his hand cupping Sherlock’s cheek. When he pulled away, Sherlock could see his cheeks, red hot, and his eyes looking anywhere but directly on him. 

“Ahh, you’re so handsome, Holmes,” Ritsuka looked down his body once more and swallowed deep. “Yes, this is the ideal Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock reached up and opened his mouth once again, and Ritsuka understood: more. 

“Right away!”

**Author's Note:**

> @thattumtho


End file.
